Barack Obama’s Pet Peeves
In response to Amie Parnes’s puff piece on Politico about the President’s “pet peeves” I came up with my own list which I posted on Twitter throughout the day using the hashtag #bhopetpeeves:
Serviceable used cars.
Small crowds.
Big ear jokes.
Man-to-man defense.
Children without tonsils.
The CBO.
“#tcots”
Campaign promises.
Man jeans.
Reading the bill.
People who make over $250,000 a year.
Neda.
Email spam filters.
Long-form birth certificates.
Unwalkable water.
Legs that don’t tingle.
Date nights not paid for by taxpayers.
Having just one autobiography.
A weak “Obamarita”.
Brothers.
Stars, stripes.
White panthers.
Nancy Reagan seances.
The vetting process.
His pay-grade.
When Sasha and Malia catch him cheating at Monopoly.
The Post Office.
Jobs.
Bo digging up his buried college transcripts.
Seeing Cindy Sheehan on vacation.
He can see Russia from his ideology.
The New York Times Best Sellers list.
When he reads to Sasha and Malia at night and they fall asleep before he gets to his favorite part of “Rules for Radicals”.
The tickle of Axelrod’s mustache.
When Bo needs his nails trimmed and the vet suggests chopping off his paws.
That Lincoln freed the slaves first.
Gibbs dropping a deuce in the Oval Office bathroom.
When Orszag claims his team is winning by 2 trillion points during pickup bball games.
Homeless people in Ohio who won’t get in the van to go vote.
Play along on Twitter using #bhopetpeeves !
Adam Lambert Confuses My Basic Instincts
AKRON, OH – If you are a heterosexual male and haven’t seen Adam Lambert’s insane mastery of song and dance on American Idol, then you’ve never really had your natural inclinations towards women put to the test. Consider this a warning. Mr. Lambert will groove his way into the deepest, darkest recesses of your being until you look down and are surprised to see that you still have a penis. How exactly does he operate? Nobody knows yet. All I know is that 15 minutes ago I was totally imagining an adult encounter with Lil Rounds and now there is ambiguity in the situation. So now I’m left trying to pick up the pieces of my manhood and figure out what just happened.
Thinking back, I remember that Mr. Lambert did not strike me any differently than, say, Rob Thomas, i.e., a man I can objectively call attractive but who doesn’t move me as much as his model wife. But then came the fabulousness of Adam Lambert: the perfectly asymmetric, jet black, sculpted hair, the form-fitting pants, the stage makeup, the soft, wispy voice suddenly changing in tone and decibels, the exact and sudden movements of his various limbs, and, most of all, the passion. I find myself sucked into his sick little world and I’m angrier than hell. I’m angry because I was just touched by AdamLambert and I don’t know what this means. Will you someday be able to Google a photo of me on the receiving end of a Lambert stage grind? I would like to say “no” but that would be a bald-faced lie.
So, where do I go from here? I could simply stop watching Idol but that would be running away from the problem. I want to know what buttons he is pushing in me that makes me want to lose weight, buy new clothes, and have really great hygiene. I don’t want him off the show; I actually need to watch more. For this critical introspection of self to take place I need him to continue in the competition. So, please, for the sake of my journey of self-exploration keep voting for Mr. Lambert. My ministry depends on it.
Fr. Fred Stevens
First Grace United Church of Christ